


Out of Consideration for Paisley

by Barkour



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Curtain Fic, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif and Loki consider curtains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Consideration for Paisley

**Author's Note:**

> I promised Rawles I would write Sif/Loki curtainfic in which they literally look at curtains, so here you go. Futurefic (way, _way_ future).

Brightly colored swaths of cloth littered the room from one end to the other, more so at the center of the bowl than at the edges. Loki rubbed a particularly garish swatch between thumb and fingers and considered Sif where she'd plopped down a moment ago. Her eyes had gone wild at the corners. Tight lines pinched her mouth.

"This is absurd," she said. "Just pick one and be done with it."

Perhaps he ought to have pity on her. She'd suffered immensely already in the name of interior decorating. Loki lifted the swatch and an even uglier pattern which lay by his knee, and he held them one to each side of his face.

"I just can't seem to decide," he said. "They both bring out my eyes."

"I will strangle you with both of them," Sif said. "You can decide that way."

"Please, darling," he said, "let's save that for the bedroom. We still have three rooms left to do before we've got there."

Sif groaned and fell onto her back. Her fingers twitched; she drummed them on the floor. Her hair fanned out about her.

"And what does it _matter_?" She scowled at the rounded ceiling with its many windows. "They're only curtains. I don't see why we should have to go through every scrap of paisley in all of Vindrheimr."

He lowered the swatches. The paisley _was_ hideous, but the green was even more so. As if someone had upchucked grass all over a piece of cloth. He frowned. That hadn't been a thought he liked. He set it aside.

"You heard what the realtor said. We have to make the place our own."

Sif covered her eyes. Her fingers curled against her brow. "And everything has _windows_ ," she said between her wrists.

Loki folded the lengths of cloth across his knees and glanced about the room. There were more windows than he'd expected, given how high up they were; all the walls, which curved in the shape of a bell above them to meet the ceiling, were split evenly between a white metal and glass. It was all very -- sunny. Open.

"That's what the curtains are for," he said. "We can swaddle all the windows in layers and live happily in blissful darkness for the remainder of our days."

She snorted. "I'm certain they have rules about that, too."

"There's always a way around a rule," Loki said lightly. "You've never been happier than when you're flaunting the law anyway, admit it."

"I will not," she declared. "If we're thrown out in a week, it will all be on you."

He weighed one of the swatches, then he lifted it and threw it across Sif's face. Sif stiffened. She clawed at the cloth and tore it free, and when she'd got it loose she threw it back in Loki's face.

Ah, he thought as Sif grabbed for his collar and drew him down next to her. That had been a mistake. He should have thought it through before he started throwing paisley at her face. He knew how she hated vulgar patterns. He said as much to her.

"You're the vulgar one," Sif said.

He feigned affront. "Who is it who's got her hand down my pants?"

"I don't yet," she said.

"And in the broad daylight, too," he went on, "in the parlor. Really, Sif, I'm shocked. Simply because we're at home doesn't mean we can neglect proper decorum."

"There is nothing proper about your decorum," she said.

She bent to him. Her kiss was soft, a small, delicate thing. Tenderness made Loki melt a bit into her touch.

"Oh, I'm growing sentimental in my old age," he murmured against her lips.

She smiled and kissed him again, her tongue on his teeth, not demanding but simply loving.

"You've always been sentimental."

He'd a snappy thing for that, just lurking at the back of his throat. "Never," he said sleekly, "in all my days have I been so subject to the whims of emotional attachment." Then he pulled a little face. That hadn't sounded half so clever as he'd thought it.

Sif, with all her weapons and sharp edges, only laughed softly under her breath and stroked his jaw. Her hair tumbled, a dark curtain to close off the rest of the world from Loki and Sif above him.

"This is home, isn't it," she said, wondering.

And how long had it taken them to get here, to this place with each other. The old apology pressed against his teeth: _I'm sorry it isn't Asgard._ The last he'd said it, Sif had kissed him fiercely and sworn into his mouth, _Don't you ever apologize for my decision._

Now Loki reached up and ran his fingers through her hair, drawing it away from her shoulder. The ends shivered along his cheek, his jaw; they tickled the underside of his chin.

"Well," he said, "we'll just have to get used to it, won't we?"

"As soon as we've picked out curtains," she said darkly.

"I want paisley on every window," Loki said.

Sif swatted him for that. He recoiled, which was a tactical error; she grabbed for the paisley at his leg and threw it over his face. He'd deserved that, he reflected as he pulled the cloth from his eyes. Grinning, he grabbed for her wrist and dragged her back down.

"Every window," he vowed after he'd released her tongue, "in contrasting colors. Fuschia in the bedroom."

Sif's shoulders rose and fell. He traced the swell of her breast. Her eyes were dark and shining. She said, "I shall miss lovemaking."

"We'll always have the parlor," he said.


End file.
